


A Melody, Not Yet A Song

by leiascully



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He promised her years ago he wouldn't rewrite their time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Melody, Not Yet A Song

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Post-6.09 "Let's Kill Hitler"  
> Concrit: Welcome  
> A/N: For [**trialia**](http://trialia.livejournal.com/)'s [left of centre](http://spoiler-song.livejournal.com/284313.html?thread=2115737#t2115737) prompt in the "Hell in High Heels" ficathon.  
>  Disclaimer: _Doctor Who_ and all related characters are the property of Russell T. Davies, Stephen Moffat, and BBC. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

The Doctor is just knocking about, trying to be all right with being alone, trying to find out more about the wretched Silence and their ridiculous Order. There's very little chatter about them, which is either extremely apt or rather ironic. It's enough to drive a man to drink, or at least to a bar slash soda fountain he knows on a museum-obsessed planet that specializes in replicating great art; he avoids Vincent's café now, but Nighthawks is still all right. The Doctor's staring moodily into a particularly interesting version of an egg cream when she walks into the room. There's no mistaking that hair, for one, or the way she commands the attention of every being in the room, or the way she slides onto the stool next to him. She's wearing a sleeveless dress and a dangerous smile. He can't see any weapons, but then again, that's never really made a difference.

"Hello, sweetie," she says warmly, signaling the bartender for a drink.

"Melody," he greets her. "You're looking extremely well."

"How did you know?" She grins at him, patting his knee with one hand.

"It's the unbalanced look around the eyes," he says. "Dead giveaway. River may be completely mad, but she's extremely good at being who she is."

"Well, I'm not the only one a bit left of center," she says, her fingers creeping up the inside of his thigh until he jumps. "Oooh, hello. It's almost a marvel you don't topple over. What do you say we get out of here? Or at least into that shadowy alley across the street. Rather convenient, this place."

He cups his hand over hers. "Maybe when you're older, darling."

She pouts prettily. "Delayed gratification isn't exactly my thing."

"Trust me," he tells her. "It's worth waiting for. You and me, well. It's going to be _fantastic_. You've told me so yourself. But not yet."

"I'm not asking to marry you," she says with a mocking tone. "Not tonight. You like me, Doctor. I can tell." Her fingers move in a nearly-subtle caress.

"Of course I like you," he says, keeping his voice low. He twines his fingers through hers and lets his thumb stroke the curve of her wrist. "You remind me of someone. Charming woman. Clever in all sorts of ways. You'll like her too, when you grow up."

She knocks her drink back, watching him out of the corner of her eye. But she doesn't let go of his hand. "You know, sweetie, there are times I really regret not killing you. You're a bit of a condescending twit."

"I've been around a long, long time," he says. "Bit of a lofty perspective from here." She isn't River, he knows, and she won't be for a while yet, but he can't help enjoying this: the flirting, the crackle in the air between them, the warm pressure of her hand in his like a promise. The skin of her wrist is incredibly soft under his touch. He prides himself on having mastered his appetites, but she brings up old impulses in him. There's nothing he wants more at the moment then to take her up on that offer, to press her into the brick wall in that shadowy alley and slide his hands over the rest of her skin. No guilt. No commitment. It would be a perfect release, redemption of a sort for his mistakes. But he promised her years ago that he wouldn't rewrite their time.

She narrows her eyes, as if she can read his mind. "I should have gone and found you earlier, sweetie. A couple of lives ago you were so much more _fun_. I heard you used to dance all night."

"I told you, Jack lies nearly as much as I do," he says lightly. She looks down at their clasped hands and rolls her eyes at him.

"Oh, Doctor, dear Doctor," she says. "It's very hard to say why we spend so much of our lives running after you. You're a fool."

"An old fool," he agrees. "And worse, an old fool in love." He raises her hand to his lips and kisses it, resisting the lingering urge to brush his cheek over her knuckles. He would give a great deal for her to be River already: he could use a confidant, the bravest person he knows covering his back, and some of the frankly excellent kissing they've been doing lately. But she won't be rushed. These things take time, and for now, he's got enough leisure to wait. Besides, she really will kill him for good this time if he alters her timeline, and he's fairly certain that getting intimately involved with a woman still fighting off the urge to do him in isn't in the cards. She's nearly the person she wants to be. He can't endanger that for his own selfish gain. Not this time, anyway.

"Go on, then," she says, ordering another drink. "Back to your magic box, back to your mission of being a bigger goody-goody than anyone else in the universe."

"I'll see you soon enough," he promises.

"Ah, ah," she says in warning, cupping her hand over his mouth. "Spoilers." She takes her hand away and kisses him as if it's her last chance. He leans into the heat of her embrace, their mouths melting together. Her fingers lace through his hair and his hands rise up to her bare shoulders. He can't help himself touching her, wanting her, breathing her in as if she's the last bit of oxygen in the room. But he can't stay: she has to make her own life. She will be more than he could imagine on his own.

He breaks the kiss slowly, regretfully. When his eyes drift open, he sees that she's smiling.

"Get out of here," she tells him, picking up her glass. "Or I might have to kiss you again."

"Have another on me," he says, dropping a few credits on the counter. "For the future's sake."

She raises her glass to him as he turns and walks away, doing his best not to look back.


End file.
